Over Omniscient Skyscrapers
by Vestina
Summary: What they were wasn't something that could be described simply; they were haphazard, a wild mix of unfinished chemistry homework, irremovable spider webbing, and half-eaten foot-long sandwiches. Drabbles.
1. One

He stops at Harold's Pizza after dropping pictures at the Bugle. Even though Gwen likes weird-ass toppings. Marinated artichokes, blech.

Except, he had also stopped for a vandal mugging some chick. Now the suit clings to his skin, adhesive with sweat.

"Woah, you're that spider dude!" the pudgy guy behind the counter marvels.

Fuck, he should have taken it off.

"Yeah, even I eat pizza. A large half pepperoni, half artichoke. Thanks."

"Of course dude! And for Spider-Man, it's on the house!"

"Nah, I can-"

The guy calls over his shoulder, "Guys, it's Spider-Man!"

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Calc is a bitch.

The room is blanketed in darkness; a better thinking environment.

Not that it's helping much. Maybe if she took the derivative if the fourth root...

The Red Bull tastes like ass, but she's not focusing without it.

Soft padding on the fire escape. Knows it's either him or a rapist. She doesn't look up, has to focus.

His fingers drum on her neck. Shit, he's quiet. She glances over her shoulder. "What?"

"Square it first."

"Shit."

"Shit is right. I need out of this suit."

"Then go change! And stop doing that potty dance."

"So itchy..."

* * *

Perfection equals t-shirts and jeans. Why he made his escape by jumping into the Hudson, is beyond his logical thinking.

She's picking those disgusting marinated artichokes off her slice when he comes back, popping them on her tongue.

He wrinkles his nose at her. "Guess who I'm not kissing tonight."

She chucks one at his head. Reflexively, his hands come up to cover his face. She snorts at him, the sound wildly unfeminine, and abrasively unattractive.

Except it's also sort of cute.

Shoots a web toward the discarded artichoke, flinging it at the trash can.

It misses. Pathetically.

More snorting.

* * *

Later.

"Go home, Peter. I don't want May to worry about you."

"You're probably right..."

"Am I ever not?"

"Well, when it comes to calc..."

"Asshole." She punches him on the shoulder. A little harder then softly. (Yes, there may have been a part of her that just wanted to touch his arm.)

His eyes shift sideways toward her. Presumably because her fist collided with his bicep a second longer than necessary. He bites the side of his lip. Then tilts his head.

And then they're kissing.

He pulls back. "How the hell could I have forgotten those fucking artichokes?"

* * *

He leans his elbows against the railing, letting the cool metal of the fire escape soothe his skin. "You know what I hate?" he murmurs.

"Hmm?"

"You can't see the stars here. Everything is so bright in New York."

"You're so dorky."

"I would call it romantic..."

"Isn't that a sleaze-ball move? Pointing out constellations. Like, 'Look, Orion's Belt. Can I undo your belt?'"

"Well since you asked."

"Bastard."

"Getting defensive only means you want it more."

"Ugh, eww."

"Oh, gee thanks. Not even my girlfriend wants to have sex with me."

"Go home, Pete. Before I slap you."


	2. Two

It's dark when she finds him in the school library. The old guy must have closed up and not realized Peter was in here.

And he's pacing. Mouthing the words of his history textbook.

"Hey," she says.

He flinches, the book clattering. "Fuck, Gwen."

"You better be glad the librarian's gone for the night. I thought you had spider-sense. That you knew when I was coming."

"That's only when there's shit flying at my head."

"Oh."

"And the War of the Three Henrys is fucking confusing. I was distracted."

"Need me to tutor you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

He hesitates.

* * *

"Alright, so Henry of Navarre-"

"Who?"

"I just told you!"

"But this guy's different than Henry Guise?"

"Yes, but he's also known as..."

"Henry III?"

"No! Henry Bourbon!"

"Fuck."

Somehow, she got him to sit down, but this, this is shit. So, he decides to be a little devious. Touches his elbow to hers, slowly inching along her forearm.

"So Henry Guise- What the hell are you doing?"

"Umm..." Trails his fingers along her pale shoulder.

"Pete."

"Yeah?" he murmurs with a half smile.

"Which guy was the Huguenot?"

"Henry."

"How far did you have to reach for that one?"

* * *

She doesn't know how they got here. One second they were discussing French absolutism and the next...

She wants to find out why he always tastes like peppermint.

Her tongue caresses his upper lip as she pulls away. "Stop." And it's only a breath.

"No." He pulls her back.

"Peter, please," she murmurs when he pauses for a breath. "I gotta go, you gotta go..."

Kiss."No."

"Why are you so like a two year old?" Kiss.

"I don't even want to picture that. Creepy pedophile..."

"Ew, not like that!" He looks at her. Adorably. "Come on. We're leaving now."

* * *

Of course. That bat-shit crazy librarian had enough sense to lock the library doors when he left.

"I don't think he's quite as bat-shit crazy as you think he is," he says after she complains.

"He didn't notice last week when Flash Thompson decided to have a toilet paper wad fight with the basketball team."

"And that bothered you?"

"I was trying to study for-"

"How did you get in if the door was locked?"

"It was propped open, I guess."

"And you let it close?"

"I didn't think it would lock!"

He rolls his eyes. "Well, shit, I guess."

* * *

They sit with their backs up against the glass of the doors.

"Don't you have some sort of super strength? You can't just blast through the doors?"

He looks at her pointedly. "There are security cameras. I don't want to get caught."

"Shit, there's got to be a way out."

"Without setting off the fire alarm? And we're on the third floor."

"Aren't you forgetting something."

"Fine, but that doesn't solve the fire alarm problem!"

"We could dismantle the fire alarm."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"You care about legality now?"

"What I do isn't illegal!"

"Sure, Pete."

But he follows her lead.


End file.
